


Recuperation -or- No Greater Love

by godsdaisiechain (preux)



Series: As in all things... [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Bible, Bonding, Canonical Character Death, Chess, F/F, F/M, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Strategy & Tactics, no greater love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8741452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/godsdaisiechain
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASONS 4 and 5A man can show no greater love than to lay down his life for a friend.  And that is what Anthony Marconi did for Carl Elias.Anthony dies and Carl is later shot.  While he recuperates, he explains this truth to Root.  And Root understands finally what Sameen did for her.  Harold and Carl discuss chess and love and loyalty.





	

When John showed up, Carl knew it would be a bad day.  Then Dominic’s men shot Anthony. And Anthony, as always, remained brave, and strong and true to his heart.  He stuck to his code.  He put Carl first, just as he always had. He laid down his life to protect his friend. Showed as much love as a person could possibly show for another.

And that other had been Carl.  “What kind of man would I be?”  he asked John.  What kind of man would not put Anthony first after all Anthony had done for him? They knew a sad number of those types of men.  Disloyal men. Oathbreakers.  Carl would not be a man like that. He had done many terrible things, but he would never betray Anthony. 

Although, in a way, he had.  Carl had a soft spot for John, and that soft spot cost him Anthony. It cost him the whole game because, for him, Anthony was every piece. Maybe if he hadn’t taken so much time to coax John out of the building, he could have saved Anthony.

In the weeks that followed, Carl’s heart ached, many times a day, and through long, sleepless nights, with an incredible longing for Anthony.  For that hand at his back. Those lips on his cheek. That reassuring presence in his bed. That smile over the dinner table. The voice of calm, affectionate reason when he was troubled.  The unswerving, faithful support. And on the evening that he finally avenged his friend, the ache and longing washed over him more powerfully than the smashed bones in his hand. 

He found himself feverish, disoriented and drugged.  Pain poured over him from the hole in his chest, his injured hand. He floated on waves of pain, drowned in them, and surfaced again, gasping in agony.  All he felt was shame that Anthony had suffered so much, so many times, and he had not been at his side. Then came a voice.

“Carlie? Is that you?”

Carl’s heart leapt. “Anthony?” A soft hand settled on his brow. Black nail polish glinted in the dim light. Not Anthony. Carl closed his eyes and bit back sobs. Soft lips kissed his forehead. Not the lips he wanted, but strangely comforting nevertheless.

“I’m Root.”  The soft hands did something and the pain receded. His mind cleared. Root drew up a chair.  “I’ve been wanting to meet you. I’m so sorry you lost your friend, Carlie.  I lost someone once.  She was my heart. 

Carl’s soul immediately responded to the feral animal in Root’s nature, the fellow feeling of a being who had to hide from an early age to avoid evil forces bent on its destruction. A soul torn to bits from the necessity of committing atrocities in order to survive. “I’m sorry to hear that, Root.”

“I think we’re a lot alike.” 

“Do you play chess?” Carl asked.

“She does,” said Root.  “I’m just a pawn. She likes you, though, Carlie. She’ll play with you. She was jealous when Harold played with you.”

“Where is Harold?”

“He doesn't like chess,” said Root, as if he hadn’t said anything.  “It reminds him of an earlier time. A brutal time. I think you know what we mean.”

“I do,” said Carl. Harold liked to think of himself as a civilized man.  He was also a man who had committed treason by the age of 20, a man who had hidden in plain sight his entire life.  A man who denied what he knew about himself.  Carl often wondered what his own life would have been like if he’d been raised by a father who loved him instead of betrayed by a villain.  Would he have been more like Harold? Inhabiting the light?  Could he have made a better life for Anthony?  And that thought stopped him. He would never have met Anthony.  Carl’s heart contracted in an agony of longing for that familiar, well-beloved presence.  The friend who stood by his side for more than forty years.  The touch that always brought a smile to his face.

“Do you want anything else?  Harold said you like marolo.”  Anthony’s favorite. Tears welled up and spilled from Carl’s eyes. 

“Maybe another time,” he said. Root gently wiped his face, held a glass of water for him to drink, kept a hand on the back of his neck. “Thank you, Root.” 

“You should rest now,” said Root, smoothing the top of his bald head.  “You were in surgery for a long time.”

“Sit with me, Root?” Carl asked. “Tell me about your friend.”

“Hanna.  Her name was Hanna.  John found her,” said Root. It was freeing to speak to someone so accepting, to feel not the slightest blame or judgment for any of the horrible things she’d done. Carl heard something else in her voice, something under her words.

“You’ve lost someone else.” 

“Sameen,” gasped Root.    

“Tell me about Sameen,” said Carl. 

Root spoke about the love of her life, and when she wept, Carl took her hand.  “You’re an excellent listener, Carlie.” 

“Thank you, Root,” said Carl.  “You’re excellent company.”

“We’re sorry. He loved you,” said Root. “We tried to save him.”

“Oh, I know how he felt,” Carl said. “No greater love.”

“No greater love?” Root asked, puzzled.  “What do you mean?” 

“To lay down your life for a friend,” said Carl. “Anthony never questioned his love. Or mine.  We would have followed each other anywhere. Laid down our lives for each other without any question.”  His face clouded.

“Sameen did that for me,” said Root, finally. “She tried to give her life to save me. Can you sleep now?”

“Ask her to tell me about you, Root,” Carl said, and Root smiled.

“She likes you, Carl. No one asks her about the people she loves. You should get some sleep.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I don’t know,” said Root.  “I have to go where she needs me.”

Carl squeezed her hand.  “Then I’ll tell you now. He liked you, too,” said Carl.  Root froze, mouth in a tiny ‘o.’  “Anthony. You went to get a look at him in the hospital. He would have just shot John if I hadn’t asked him not to, but you he liked.  He said he’d have you in his crew any time.”  Carl smiled. “Everyone underestimated him. Everyone. You. John. Harold.  Even your Machine.”

Root tilted her head, listening.  “He was a very private person,” she said.

“Very private,” Carl agreed.    

Root paused again.  “Harry is coming.  I have to go. Bear will protect you.” 

“Harold doesn’t know you’re here?” 

“He wouldn't think it was safe to leave us alone.  No telling what we would do. We villains being reformed.”

Carl chuckled. “Speaking of love and sacrifice and friendship.”

“Yes. Dangerous things.  Harold doesn’t understand those the same way we do.  I’d like to kiss you again.” 

“I’d welcome that,” said Carl.  Root kissed his cheek, and Carl squeezed her hand. “I’d like to see you again, Root.”

“Me, too, Carlie.” She stole away, leaving Carl alone in the safe house.  Bear rested his face on the bed and Carl stroked the soft fur with his good hand, taking in the view, for the twenty minutes it took Harold to arrive.

“You’re awake, Mr. Elias,” Harold said.

“Thank you, Harold,” said Carl.

“Detective Fusco is the one whom you should thank.  He risked his life to bring you here,” said Harold.  “Is there anything I can offer you?”

“You’ve already done a great deal,” said Carl. “I’m grateful.”

Harold hovered uncomfortably, fussing with an umbrella and his hat. “It is arguable that John’s actions and mine cost Mr. Marconi his life,” he said. “And for that I apologize profoundly once again.  We failed you.”

“Not as much as I blame myself. I could have told John about the bomb in the safe,” said Carl.

“You seem to be taking this rather well,” said Harold.

“With war comes sacrifice. Anthony understood that.”

“This was no ordinary sacrifice,” said Harold.

“It would not have been my first choice,” Carl admitted. “But Anthony followed his code.  I respect that. John was trying to save my life. Anthony respected that. And Dominic is no longer a danger to the city.”

Harold shifted uncomfortably.  “I’m afraid I am somewhat culpable for his rise,” he said.  Carl considered this quietly.  

“You were the substitute teacher who told him about the circle? That the circle contains everything? I imagine that you actually explained pi.”

“I was,” said Harold.  “I fear that I was not as successful in that role as you were.”

“I got dozens of kids into college,” said Carl.  “And I paid for tuition. Secretly, of course.” 

“And I created another villain,” said Harold solemnly.   “I tried to convey what I love about numbers.”

“And I tried to convey what they needed to survive. The idea that they could better themselves. What I wished had been an option for me. But you created something else as well,” said Carl quietly.  “Something important.” 

“I don’t…”

“The time for lies between us has passed, Harold,” said Carl.

“You just withheld information about….” 

“Anthony. And certain things between me and Anthony will always be private, Harold,” said Carl. “I haven’t asked who holds your heart or where you have hidden that person.” Harold sat down, shaking in every limb.  “You made something that tracks the cameras all over the city.  That listens to our phones.  I think you are the person who hacked the internet.  I think you built an artificial intelligence. I think you understand what it means to lose your closest friend because of something you did.”  Harold waited. “I also think, Harold, that you are a friend.  I think the time for lies between us has passed because you are a friend.  And I think you, like me, have lost nearly all of your friends.  I think neither of us can afford to lose another.”

“How about a nice game of chess?” Harold said, skirting the main point. 

“I’d enjoy that,” said Carl. 

Harold make a small noise when Carl moved his queen. “That’s mate, I think,” Carl said.

“How did you…” Harold wanted to know.

Tears rose in Carl’s eyes. “I promised Anthony I’d try that the next time I saw you.” Harold sat, speechless, mouth slightly open.  “Who did you think I normally played against? Yogorov?”

“I underestimated him,” Harold admitted. “I considered him to be like John.” 

“Everyone underestimated him,” said Carl. “Even I did, and I have loved him since we were boys.  Have you ever considered, Harold, what you would have been had you been born the way I was? Or Anthony?”

“No,” said Harold.  

Weeks later, Carl, still reeling from the loss of Bruce, didn't know what to do when Samaritan shot his driver.  He paused, suddenly, and for the first time, fully understood all that Anthony had done for him. Then the world went black.

For his part, Harold felt the inner agony of losing yet another worthy friend as a result of his mistakes.


End file.
